


A test of our camaraderie and bravery

by hamiltonneedshugs



Series: Washington's On Your Side [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Everything Is OK I promise, Father Figures, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltonneedshugs/pseuds/hamiltonneedshugs
Summary: Sequel to "I was just like you when I was younger". Professor Washington continues to worry about his non-stop supervisee Alexander Hamilton, particularly when his closest friend Laurens is badly injured. Hurt/comfort university AU, feat. Alex "More Stressed and In Need of Hugs and Support Than Ever" Hamilton, George "Accidental Chauffeur and Squad Dad" Washington, and the rest of the Revolutionary Boys being adorable.





	1. In Which Hamilton Texts, Not Emails

 

 

Washington made sure to keep an eye on the student newspaper for the referendum results, and sure enough, on Wednesday morning the front page was emblazoned with the announcement that the student union had won its independence from the NUS. A photograph of Hamilton and his victorious team was the main focus. And Hamilton himself was centre stage - sitting balanced precariously on John Laurens’ shoulders, apparently screaming himself hoarse in triumph, face alight with fervour, and mid celebratory fist-pump. Inside there was also a picture of him standing on a podium shouting and giving the finger to a group of the ‘Stay’ campaigners, but Washington counted it as a victory that no fist-fights were reported. 

 

He took the front page home to show Martha, who laughed and affectionately perched it on the mantelpiece for a week or so. He also sent Hamilton an officially neutral but obviously congratulatory email, to which Hamilton responded with much delight (and also with a long rant about some extra reading he’d been doing). 

 

Washington struggled to keep himself from worrying, but after a few weeks with no incident, began to hope that the worst was over. Maybe he’d got through to Hamilton, or maybe his deadlines just happened to be a bit more forgiving, but things seemed to be looking up. Hamilton’s emails continued to be coherent and enthusiastic, he seemed to be looking well when Washington occasionally passed him in the department corridor, and he was even on time to one of their meetings. He did very apologetically decline Washington's next invitation over to dinner due to the elections for the new committee of the Politics Society, but they rescheduled for in the new year.

 

The afternoon prior to the meal, however, at about five, Washington received a text.

 

_Hi alex hamilton here. really sorry but won’t be able to make it tonight_

 

Washington frowned, disappointed. Hamilton had seemed genuinely contrite when he hadn’t been able to make dinner last time - this seemed remarkably abrupt in comparison. Short notice, as well. He’d been really looking forward to the evening, and he knew Martha had too (if only for the opportunity to tease the two of them). 

 

He hit “reply”, and then paused. Odd, also, that Hamilton hadn’t emailed. Most of their conversations took place via email, presumably because it gave Hamilton a greater opportunity to write more. He tended to be glued to his laptop rather than his phone whenever Washington had caught sight of him in the library.

 

A cold feeling was gnawing at Washington’s stomach. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

 

He closed the text, and selected to call Hamilton instead. 

 

The call rang out. There was no option to leave a voicemail. 

 

He exhaled slowly and tried to fight what he was trying to convince himself was irrational panic. Hamilton was almost certainly fine (after all, he had texted). It was probably nothing.

 

His phone buzzed in his hand with an incoming call, and he picked it up immediately. “Hello?”

 

“Hello?” Hamilton said, and the tremble in his voice was immediately apparent. Washington found that he had stood up quickly out of his chair without even thinking about it.

 

“Alexander? Are you all right?”

 

“I’m… I’m sorry about tonight, I can’t make it,” Hamilton said, and he sounded _wrong_ , his voice was too quiet, there was a barely controlled high note in it, and Washington could hear his breathing shuddering through the speaker. His fingers clenched tighter on his phone in concern.

 

“Alex, I’m not worried about that, what’s happened? Can you speak?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I… Oh God,” Hamilton’s voice cracked, and he let out a single sob. Washington grabbed his coat blindly from the door and started shrugging it on, feeling for his keys in the pocket.

 

“What is it? Do you need help? Where are you?”

 

“I’m at…” A cough. “I’m at the hospital…”

 

Washington forced himself to remain silent to let Hamilton speak, though his heart was hammering in his chest. He tried to rationalise that if Hamilton had managed to text, he was presumably OK. He hammered the volume control on the side of the phone so he could hear him properly.

 

“It’s… It’s my friend John, he’s, he’s…”

 

Hamilton let out a terrible pained whine, as if he was desperately to prevent himself from crying. Washington jammed the power button on his computer and seized his bag. 

 

“He's been stabbed, I don’t know if… They don’t know if… Oh God…”

 

“Is there anyone else with you?” Washington asked quickly.

 

“M-my housemate is coming, but he’s not…” Another whine. “He’s not here yet, I don’t know… I don’t know what to do, what…”

 

“You’re at the general?” Washington said, locking up his office and balancing his phone on his shoulder so he could continue talking.

 

“Yeah, in A&E, I…”

 

“I’ll come to meet you,” Washington said firmly, now jogging along the corridor, and calculating how long the drive would take. “Is there anything I can bring?”

 

“I… I don’t think so, I don’t know…”

 

“OK. I’m going to have to hang up while I drive, but I’ll be there as quickly as I can, all right?”

 

“Please… OK, OK…” Hamilton’s voice was still shaking, but he sounded a little better. 

 

“Sit yourself down,” Washington instructed. “Wait for me and your other friend, all right? Just hang on.”

 

“Thank you,” Hamilton said, his voice very small and very heartfelt, and then he hung up. 

 

Washington drove as fast as he could to the hospital, cursing at the traffic he kept getting stuck in (though he used one standstill at some traffic lights to quickly text Martha to let her know what was going on). He felt rather sick, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Hamilton was feeling. He was already imagining what the hell he could possibly do if his friend didn’t make it. There wasn’t any comfort he would be able to give then (indeed there was precious little he could do now). He knew how close Hamilton and John were; this was going to be devastating either way. 

 

He made it to the hospital in just over fifteen minutes, but then had to find a parking spot, which was easier said than done. Once he’d parked up, he tried to call Hamilton again, but he didn’t pick up. Fighting that growing feeling of foreboding once more, he chucked a few quid in the parking machine, threw the ticket on to his dashboard and set off at a run to the main A&E entrance.


	2. In Which Hamilton Has To Stop and Wait

 

 

As he rounded the corner he immediately saw Hamilton, even in the rapidly-darkening twilight. He was standing a little way outside the automatic doors, barely supporting himself with one arm propped up against the wall. His clothes were looking oddly… patchy, and it took a moment for the stomach-churning revelation that they were covered in blood to hit Washington. Next to him was the tall, well-dressed French exchange student whom Washington had been briefly introduced to in the corridor as Lafayette. Hamilton was an absolute mess - as he drew closer Washington could see that the bloodstains also extended to his hands and face. He forced himself to slow to a slightly more dignified jog as he approached.

 

"What did they say?" Lafayette was asking frantically. “How long will he be in theatre?”

 

Hamilton shook his head almost groggily, glanced up, and saw Washington. To say his face broke into relief would be an exaggeration, but his tense expression eased very slightly. His face was blotchy and damp, tears still fresh in his eyes. Lafayette followed Hamilton's stare and turned his head.

 

"Professor?" Lafayette asked in confusion. "What are you...?"

 

“I c-called him," Hamilton said, and stumbled, losing his supporting grip on the wall. Washington was quick to grasp his arm. It was trembling.

 

"Come on, come over here, sit yourself down,” Washington said quickly, locating a nearby bench and pulling Hamilton in its direction.

 

"OK," Hamilton said meekly, staggering over. Lafayette came to grab his other arm to help him. Hamilton half-collapsed on to the bench and then sat with his head between his knees for a few seconds. Lafayette, to his credit, kept quiet, but he looked almost as pale as Hamilton and was wringing his hands.

 

“Are you hurt? What…? Is...?" Washington almost hesitated to ask how Laurens was, for fear he'd receive a devastating answer.

 

“I’m not hurt, the blood’s his. They… They didn't say how long he'd be in theatre," Hamilton said hollowly, head still bowed. "They just kind of... rushed him off. But I'm listed as his emergency contact, so they'll let me know if there's any news." His voice broke again. Washington reached out a hesitant hand to rub his back. He shot a quick enquiring look at Lafayette, wondering if he'd got more of the story.

 

Lafayette exhaled shakily and rubbed at his face. “John… He was walking home, on his own. He saw that he was being followed, so he calls Alex, but by the time Alex found him, they had stolen from him and left. One of them had a knife."

 

“They got him… here…” Hamilton said hoarsely, indicating his abdomen. “Fuck, if I'd got there sooner..." 

 

“They would have attacked you as well, mon ami, and no one could have called the ambulance," Lafayette pointed out.

 

"Have you spoken to the police?" Washington asked.

 

Hamilton nodded. "Yeah, they got here not long after we did. I've got to give a statement, but they said it could wait. I think they're waiting to see if…If… ” He gave another one of those dreadful whines, muffled into his sleeve, but his point was clear even without words. They were waiting to see if Laurens made it or not.

 

"Where did it happen?" Washington asked, thinking of the area around Hamilton's house with a sinking feeling.

 

"Beaufort Street," Hamilton murmured. "We walk through there all the time, back from campus, it could have... it could have been any one of us." He tried to wipe the blood off his shaking hands on to his jeans, with little success.

 

"Is there a relatives room where you could go and wait?" Washington said gently. "You could wash."

 

Hamilton shook his head rapidly without looking up. "Don't want to. I hate hospitals."

 

"All right," Washington said mildly, and continued to rub his back. He shot another glance at Lafayette, who had started crying quietly, his head in his hands. He wanted to offer some kind of comfort, but he knew it would be hollow. He rummaged in his pocket for a tissue and offered it to Hamilton, who nodded gratefully and managed to clean his hands a little better. When he was done, he held it clenched in his quivering fingers. Washington cautiously reached over, careful not to startle him, and took it from his grasp. He coughed slightly.

 

“Do you mind if I…?”

 

Hamilton glanced up at him, and Washington indicated the smear on his cheek.

 

“Oh, yeah, thanks, I…” 

 

Washington motioned for him to move his head a little, and wiped it off as best as he could. Hamilton didn’t meet his eyes, staring fixedly into the middle distance, but he muttered his thanks once Washington had finished. Lafayette reached out his left hand to him, which Hamilton took gratefully in his right. 

 

"Did you manage to get through to Herc?" Lafayette said hoarsely after a while. Hamilton shook his head. 

 

“No, I reckon he must be still on the plane.” There was a short silence. “Herc’s our other housemate, he’s visiting family in Nigeria,” Hamilton said in an aside to Washington, who nodded in comprehension. 

 

They sat for a long time. The hustle and bustle of the hospital went on around them, but no one came over to disturb them. Gradually Hamilton’s hands stopped trembling. After about half an hour, Lafayette got up. “I am going to try and ask how he is,” he said briskly.

 

“Laf, they probably won’t tell you anything, he probably isn’t even out of surgery yet,” Hamilton said dully. Lafayette shrugged.

 

“It is worth a try, and better than sitting out here. Do you want to come?”

 

Hamilton shook his head, Lafayette nodded, and left. Washington and Hamilton continued to sit in silence, only occasionally broken by Hamilton’s ragged breathing.

 

“Sorry, I know it’s… stupid, sitting out here,” Hamilton said, after a long while. He had started picking the green paint off the aging bench. “You can really go home, you know, I’m sorry, it’s not as if there’s anything you can do.”

 

“It’s fine, son, I want to stay,” Washington said. Hamilton looked so young and vulnerable and distressed that the thought of leaving him seemed outrageous. “You might get cold, sitting out here though.”

 

Hamilton shrugged. “Hate hospitals. Rather be cold.”

 

Washington opened his mouth to ask why, but then closed it again. Hamilton, however, seemed to hear the unasked question.

 

“My, er… When my mum and I…” He took in a shaky exhale, and continued addressing the floor, shredding a particularly large strip of paint. “I was twelve. We were both in hospital for ages. TB. It was really bad.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “And she got pneumonia, as well, while she was in there, and it killed her.”

 

Washington didn’t have anything to say to that, so he just put an arm around Hamilton’s shoulder. He had feared Hamilton was shivering and with the physical contact it became undeniable.

 

“I _know_ it’s irrational, and I _know_ it’s the best place for…” Hamilton’s voice stuttered. “For John to be. But I don’t want to go in, if I can help it.”

 

“That’s OK,” Washington said simply. “Look, when Lafayette comes out, maybe we can go and sit in my car. At least it will be warmer, all right?”

 

Hamilton nodded. “OK.” His voice cracked again. “I’m… I’m sorry about dinner, and now I’m keeping you here as well, Martha will be…”

 

“Martha will be fine,” Washington insisted. “She said she was itching to stay at work a bit longer with her case files anyway.”

 

Hamilton nodded again, and swiped at his face in a way that told Washington he was crying again, even if he couldn’t see his face. “Sir, what if…? Oh God, what am I going to do if he…?” He gave a strangled sob. 

 

Washington paused and rubbed his shoulder. Luckily he was spared the embarrassment of an empty platitude by the reappearance of Lafayette. Hamilton jerked his head up suddenly at the sight of him. “Did you…? Did you get anything? Did they say…?”

 

“No,” Lafayette said quietly. “But I got some chocolate from the vending machine, and some tissues.” He passed a handful to Hamilton. “Looks like we are in for a long wait still.”

 

“I was saying to Hamilton that maybe we could go and wait in my car,” Washington said quietly. “It’d at least be warmer.”

 

Lafayette nodded, and helped Hamilton up off the bench. Washington levered himself to his feet - he had got stiff himself sitting in the same position for so long. The trek across the car park back to Washington’s car seemed to take forever, but once they were inside, switching on the heating for a bit was worth it. Hamilton and Lafayette sat in the back, huddled together. Lafayette rested his chin on Hamilton’s head and started stroking a hand through his hair. 

 

“Is it all right if I put the radio on?” Washington asked quietly, and the two of them nodded. It was more to give them some privacy than anything else, but it was nice to have something to break the silence a little. He could faintly hear Lafayette murmuring to Hamilton in French under the music.

 

A couple of hours later, when Washington had begun to get worried about draining the car battery, Hamilton’s phone suddenly rang. 

 

The atmosphere in the car instantly changed. Hamilton, who had been half-lying down over Lafayette, apparently utterly exhausted, jerked upright with a start. Washington switched the radio off immediately.

 

“Hello?” Hamilton said urgently. 

 

“Yes, this is Alex Hamilton. Yeah.” 

 

Washington, twisted around in his seat, could see tears beginning to glisten in Hamilton’s eyes. He couldn’t help but hold his breath. The suspense was horrible.

 

“Oh-my-god,” Hamilton suddenly said, in a single rushed exhale. “Oh God, he’s OK?” 

 

Washington saw Lafayette slump back against the window in relief. 

 

“Yeah. Has he been out of theatre long? OK.”

 

Hamilton was shaking, tears flowing down his cheeks again.

 

“Can we come in and see him? OK. What time do you open in the morning? OK. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

 

He hung up, and Lafayette immediately grabbed him into a hug. Hamilton coughed and sobbed into his chest.

 

“He is all right?” Lafayette said desperately. “He’s OK?”

 

Hamilton was nodding fervently. “Yeah, yeah, he’s out of theatre, he’s alive.” Washington felt his own face split into a grin. His death-grip on the arm rest loosened slightly. “But he’s still sedated, and they’ve taken him to intensive care now. They said that they don’t allow visitors this late, but we can come and see him first thing in the morning.”

 

Lafayette nodded. “We can come in then.” He turned to beam at Washington and reached for his hand. “Professor, it’s our lucky night.”

 

Washington nodded decisively. “Thank God. Now, can I take you boys home?”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the comments and kudos so far, they are greatly appreciated, please keep them coming! x


	3. In Which Hamilton is Relieved, But Exhausted

 

 

It was almost 9pm by the time they reached Hamilton’s house. Hamilton looked to be half-asleep in the back seat, his head lolling on Lafayette’s shoulder, but woke up enough as Washington parked to insist that he came in with them. Washington, who was understandably even more reticent about the dodginess of the surrounding area than before, was glad to oblige.

 

The house was definitely small, but not dingy or cold in the way student properties all too often were. Hamilton ushered Washington into the kitchen, which had a respectable heap of plates by the sink, but was otherwise reasonably clean. Washington sat down at the table with relief, and got out his phone to send another text to Martha to keep her updated.

 

“Now, Alex,” Lafayette said with authority. “Please go and have a shower. I will make some food.” Hamilton nodded dutifully. “Professor, would you like anything?” Lafayette continued, brandishing an enormous bag of dried pasta in his direction.

 

Washington opened his mouth to refuse politely, and then realised he was starving. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble… If I can help with the cooking?”

 

“Most certainly you can,” Lafayette said magnanimously. “Alex, dépêche-toi! You have fifteen minutes.” 

 

“I’m going, I’m going,” Hamilton said, and Washington could hear him jogging upstairs.

 

“And don’t put those clothes in the laundry basket!” Lafayette called after him. “They are covered in blood and I _do not want it on all my things_!”

 

“All right!” Hamilton shouted from upstairs, and Washington actually managed to summon a laugh. God, he was exhausted. 

 

“What can I do to help?” he asked.

 

“Please dice this,” Lafayette said, producing an onion from a kitchen cupboard and gesturing Washington towards a drawer that turned out to contain cutlery. 

 

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, when suddenly Lafayette’s phone rang. Lafayette glanced at it, and said, “It’s Herc, I’ll have to speak to him. Can you…?”

 

Washington nodded his assent and gave his sautéing onions a stir. The non-stick coating on the pan he was using appeared to be long-gone, but he was compensating with plenty of oil. His stomach gave a pang when he saw the initials “JL” clumsily written on to the handle of the spatula he was using, and tried to push away the thought of how hard it would be for the others to continue living here if Laurens didn’t come home.

 

Lafayette had quickly taken the call with Herc into the other room, but Washington could still hear him faintly talking at top speed. He returned quickly though.

 

“Everything OK?” Washington asked delicately, and Lafayette nodded.

 

“Yes, his plane has just got in and he is catching the train back as quickly as he can.” Lafayette rubbed his face briefly. He too looked shattered.

 

By the time Hamilton came back downstairs in a pair of pyjamas he had probably owned for years (judging by their wear and the length of the legs), his skin flushed pink and hair still damp from the shower, dinner was served. It was only pasta with some vegetables, but Washington thought it tasted heavenly. Hamilton ate with gusto, though by the end of his bowl he looked like he was seconds away from nodding off into the tomato sauce. 

 

“You should go to bed,” Washington said gently. “You’ll need to be up early tomorrow, won't you?”

 

Hamilton nodded drowsily. “Hospital opens at nine for visitors.”

 

“I see. Can I give you a lift?”

 

Hamilton shook his head slowly. “No need, sir, seriously, you’ve done enough.”

 

“Please, let me,” Washington said seriously. “It’s the least I can do.”

 

“That would be much appreciated,” Lafayette said graciously. Washington nodded.

 

“In that case, I will see you at eight thirty tomorrow?”

 

“OK,” Hamilton said. Washington got the impression that it was only his tiredness that had caused him to relent so quickly. “Thank you.” 

 

“Now, let me get out of your hair.” Washington stood to leave, and, despite his protests, Hamilton came to see him out.

 

“Could you… I know it’s not far, but could you text me when you get back to your car?” Hamilton said apologetically. “It’s just… well.”

 

“Of course, I understand,” Washington said. 

 

Hamilton hesitated a moment, and this time Washington anticipated the oncoming hug. If anything, it was more desperate than the first one. “Thanks for today,” Hamilton said, his voice slightly muffled. “It… it means a hell of a lot. The way you came straight over to get me. Thank you.”

 

“I’m just glad I could help a bit, son,” Washington said honestly, as they broke apart. “I’ve been in that sort of situation myself, and it’s not pretty.”

 

Hamilton gave him a brief, searching look, and nodded. “Well, I appreciate it. You need a fucking pay rise, if you don’t mind me saying, sir.”

 

“Thankfully this sort of thing very rarely comes under my supervisor duties,” Washington teased, and reached out to pat Hamilton’s shoulder one last time. “Right, now, get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

True to his word, he texted Hamilton _Just off home now_ when he got back to his car, and pulled into his own drive about twenty minutes later. He could still faintly see a light on through the curtains of their bedroom window, and smiled. He trooped inside, dropped his bag in the hallway, and came quietly up the stairs. His feet felt like they were made of lead. 

 

Martha was sitting in bed, wearing her glasses and reading. The bedside lamp was softly illuminating her features, and Washington felt a warm rush of affection. 

 

“In bed already?” Washington said jokingly, leaning over to kiss her. 

 

“I thought you’d be tired,” Martha said, running a hand over his cheek. “You look it.”

 

“I am. Just let me have a shower.”

 

When he emerged from the bathroom a while later, Martha had removed her glasses, and dimmed the bedside light slightly. He put on his pyjamas and slid into bed with a sigh. Martha shuffled on to her side to see him better. 

 

“So?” she said quietly, which was Washington’s cue to tell her everything. Texts hadn’t really been able to convey how awful he’d felt, how helpless, or the sinking feeling he still had that Laurens wouldn’t pull through. 

 

“Anyway, when I left them they were still pretty shaken up,” he concluded. “Hamilton wanted me to text him when I got back to my car.”

 

Martha sighed. “Poor boy. Did he say what happened when he found him?”

 

Washington shook his head. “No, he’d already told Lafayette by the time I turned up, and I didn’t want to put him through it again. He was covered in blood though, he must have been trying to stop the bleeding.” His jaw tightened at the thought of Hamilton kneeling there in some dark back alley, trying to keep his friend alive. 

 

Martha put a hand to his cheek soothingly. “Well, it’s a horrible thing to have happened, but you’ve done all you could.”

 

Washington sighed. “I wish I could have done more, but I suppose you’re right.”

 

“You know I am,” Martha said, and kissed him on the temple. Washington smiled. 

 

“Not very professional though, is it,” he remarked after a moment. “Poor lad is still calling me ‘sir’.”

 

Martha smiled. “I think you’re a little bit past that, aren’t you?”

 

Washington shrugged and sighed. “I mean, I am still his supervisor.”

 

Martha gave him a hard look. “Yes, but you’re clearly much more to him than that. He emails you every hour of the day and night, for one thing, even if it’s just for essay advice. And he didn’t have to call you back earlier. He wanted you there at the hospital. And he told you about his _mother_ \- does he come across like the type to open up easily?”

 

“Definitely not,” Washington said, with feeling, remembering their first few meetings.

 

“Well, then, what does that tell you?” Martha said. “It’s not a bad thing that he sees you more as a friend, you know. It sounds like he could do with someone to look out for him.”

 

“Hmmmm.” Washington stretched a little. “He and his housemates seem very close. I get the impression that they rely on each other a lot. And I mean he hasn’t mentioned Laurens - John - very often, but I get the impression they’re normally inseparable. God.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Stop worrying,” Martha reminded him, and put her arm round him. “For one thing, you’ve got to get up early in the morning, hmmm?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll probably leave about eight. What about you? How’s the case?”

 

Martha hummed quietly. “It’s good. I think I might have a new angle, I’m going to call Abigail about it tomorrow.”

 

“That’s good.” Washington leaned over to kiss her again. “Sorry about dinner.”

 

She laughed a little. “Don’t be silly. It’s in the fridge, we can have it tomorrow. Though I’m a little worried you’re going to bring home a whole horde of stray students with you.” 

 

“I’m beginning to worry the same thing,” Washington muttered, and she chuckled again.

 

“You’re a good man George.”

 

“And you’re the best woman any man could hope for,” he said, kissing her on the nose.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” she said. “Come on, enough nattering.” She reached over and switched off the light, but then rolled back into his arms. Washington had thought that it would take him a long time to fall asleep, but with the warm brush of her breath on his cheek and the comforting presence of her hand on his arm, it wasn’t long before he dozed off.

 

 *** 

 

The next morning he made Martha breakfast, discussed whether the weather would be nice enough to go on a walk later, and gathered a briefcase full of marking together before setting off. He knocked on Hamilton’s door at 8.35 and was invited in by Lafayette, looking remarkably bright-eyed. He made Washington a cup of very strong coffee while making excuses on behalf of Hamilton and Herc, who tumbled down the stairs five minutes later.

 

Washington critically appraised Hamilton as he came in. His eyes were a little puffy and his hair a little unkempt, but he did a least look like he’d slept. Washington was also introduced to Herc, a powerfully built Fashion Design student who positively towered over Hamilton, but with an air of weary gentleness. He hadn’t got home from the airport until long past midnight the previous night, and gratefully downed the coffee Lafayette had prepared for him in a few gulps. 

 

The four of them piled into Washington’s car (Herc was voted to take the front passenger seat) and drove to the hospital almost in silence. Although the terrible tension of yesterday had eased a little, there was still a distinct feeling of anxiety. Washington could hear Hamilton’s foot drumming on the floor of the car. 

 

Once they had pulled up into the hospital car park, Washington switched off the engine and turned to face them. “Right, I’m just going to wait here,” he said.

 

“You can go home, sir,” Hamilton said quickly. “There’s no need to wait.”

 

“I have brought a whole pile of marking and also a good book,” Washington countered. “And once again, it’ll make me feel better. I might as well work here as at home.”

 

Hamilton started to protest again, but Lafayette just produced a handful of coins for the parking machine. “Thank you,” he said. “We should be back soon.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon guys :)


	4. In Which Hamilton Breathes Again

 

 

The nurse ushered him through the double doors, and Hamilton, still rubbing the antiseptic gel over his hands, felt his heart rate quicken uncomfortably. The last time he’d seen John, he’d been unconscious, being rushed directly from the ambulance into theatre, his body lying crumpled on the trolley. Even the second set of emergency dressings the paramedics had applied had been so rapidly soaked with blood. He’d looked terribly pale and fragile and vulnerable and Hamilton had felt almost incapacitated with the horror that he hadn’t been able to _save him_. 

 

Hamilton tried to block the thoughts from his mind, and focused on the loud tapping of their shoes on the corridor floor. His hands felt very cold, whether from anxiety or the evaporating alcohol gel he couldn’t tell. They were heading for another set of double doors. 

 

“He’s just through here, on the open ward,” the nurse said curtly, pushing open the door, and Hamilton’s eyes instantly scanned the room and found Laurens. 

 

He wasn’t aware of breaking into a run (though he did hear someone give an irritable yelp of disapproval), but he didn’t care, because Laurens was there in the bed on the end of the row and he was _alive_ and laughing weakly and reaching out a hand to him. 

 

“Alex, calm down, man, I’m OK, I’m OK…”

 

Hamilton grabbed at his hand desperately and squeezed it, suddenly finding that all his words had deserted him. For a moment there was nothing else in the world other than Laurens’ tired hazel eyes, and his freckles dark against his ashen face, and his wide smile. 

 

“If you just sit down here,” the nurse said, her tone a little softer as she offered Hamilton a chair, and Hamilton managed to stammer out his thanks. 

 

“John,” he said, and then stopped, because really he couldn’t find anything to say. He’d had so many things that yesterday he’d bitterly regretted not telling him, because he’d been so horribly sure that they’d had their last conversation _ever_ , but now they seemed strangely reluctant to come out. He opened and closed his mouth ineffectually a few times. 

 

Laurens lifted his hand to touch Hamilton’s cheek. Hamilton noticed that his other hand had a cannula in it, and was lying limp on the bed beside him, looking delicate and frail. “You all right?” Laurens said, concerned. Hamilton snorted and shook his head.

 

“I thought… I really thought you were dead,” Hamilton said, his voice trembling, and his eyes were drawn inexorably down to Laurens’ midsection, hidden beneath the white covers. He half-expected to see the blood soaking through them. He remembered pressing down on the wound with his bare hands, blood pooling up under his fingers, Laurens crying in pain as he put pressure on it - 

 

_“I’m sorry, John, I’m sorry, I have to stop it, oh God, sorry, sorry…”_

 

“Alex?” Laurens said, and Hamilton tried to focus on him. 

 

“Sorry, I just…”

 

“It’s _OK_ ,” Laurens said. “They fixed me up, OK? I’ll be home soon, it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

 

“It will be, though,” Hamilton said, his voice cracking, because now he had glimpsed a life where Laurens _might not be there anymore_ , the terror of that idea was overwhelming.

 

“Well obviously I’m going to have a really badass scar,” Laurens said. “But apart from that.”

 

Hamilton managed a laugh, but really it was more an introduction to him bursting into tears.

 

“You fucking idiot,” Laurens said. “Come closer, I can’t move very well.”

 

Hamilton shuffled his chair closer to the bed, trying not to drip tears on to Laurens’ blankets. Laurens pulled him close with his good hand and planted a rough kiss on the top of his head. 

 

“You’re a silly twat,” Laurens said softly into his hair. “You’ve got to know that I’d never leave you, right?”

 

“You nearly did,” Hamilton breathed. “I was so fucking scared.”

 

“I know,” Laurens said.

 

They sat in silence for a while. Just being able to hear Laurens’ breathing, feel the warmth of him, to know for certain, (if only for a few moments at a time), that he was alive, was a gift that Hamilton had thought he would never get to appreciate again. He thought they’d long gone past the point where propriety would dictate they should let go of each other, but clinging seemed the more reasonable course of action.

 

Eventually, Hamilton managed to engage his brain enough for conversation. “I called Washington last night, I was in such a state,” he confessed.

 

Laurens drew back a little. “Did you? Did he pick up?”

 

“He kind of… came to the hospital, sat with us for hours, and then drove us home,” Hamilton said, a little sheepishly. “And drove us here this morning.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Laf was right, he’s a _sweetheart_ ,” Laurens said triumphantly. “Don’t go offending him, I want to win him over so he can adopt me too.”

 

“He hasn’t _adopted_ me,” Hamilton protested. It felt silly sitting here arguing about it, but the mind-numbingly-appalling reality of _John could have died_ was too much to confront all in one go. He was already trying to mentally push it to one side (ready for a breakdown another day, the more cynical side of his mind suggested). 

 

“He absolutely has,” Laurens said. “It’s good. You need it.”

 

“Fuck off,” Hamilton said under his breath, only to realise that another nurse (a little older and more severe-looking than the previous one) was coming over to them. “Oops, shit.”

 

Luckily she didn’t seem to notice as she checked on Laurens, though she did give Hamilton a pointed look that seemed to indicate “shouldn’t you be giving us some privacy”. Luckily Laurens immediately insisted that he stayed, and she carried on the examination without further comment.  


“He’s been very lucky,” she said to Hamilton. “Three hours in surgery and seven units of blood.”

 

“Look on the bright side,” Laurens said, in response to Hamilton’s presumably distraught face. “What are the chances of me being stabbed twice in my life, right? Basically zero. I’ve just got it out of the way early.”

 

“That is…” Hamilton began, but Laurens began talking over him.

 

“How soon do you reckon you guys can bring some books in for me? I’m going to be bored out of my _mind_ in here.”

 

Hamilton started to object. “John, you need a break, you…”

 

“AHA!” Laurens yelled, so loudly that yet another nurse gave them a startled look. “Now you know how I feel, every second of my life, trying to deal with you!”

 

Hamilton tried to argue, but ended up weakly laughing instead.

 

“Though,” Laurens continued. “I do seriously want my books. I’m going to be in here a while longer, and I’m not surviving a stab wound to rot away from sheer boredom in this place.”

 

“All right,” Hamilton said, because he was powerless to resist Laurens like this. “I’ll bring you your damned books.”

 

Laurens beamed at him, and Hamilton felt the terrifying pressure in his chest melt away a little more. He smiled back.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I really should apologise for the corniness of the chapter titles at this point. I just can't help myself.


	5. In Which Hamilton and Washington Have a Heart-To-Heart

 

Washington was left in the car with his marking, and his thoughts. He had thought that the latter would trouble him more, but the essays were from some of his masters students, and were sufficiently engaging to distract him. So much so in fact, that the knock on the window less than half an hour later made him jump. 

 

Hamilton was standing outside, looking a little tearful but smiling. Washington opened the passenger door for him. “All right?” he asked. 

 

Hamilton nodded as he got in. “Yeah.They’d only let one of us in at once because it was so busy in ITU, so I went first. He’s… he’s OK.” He gave a weak smile.

 

“Good,” Washington said firmly. 

 

“He… He lost a lot of blood. But they managed to stabilise him, and they say he’s been very lucky.” Hamilton exhaled. “It’ll take him a while to heal, and obviously they had to open him up for the surgery, but they don’t think he’ll have to stay in intensive care for long.” He gave a wry smile. “He asked me if I could bring him his books.”

 

Washington smiled. “Sounds like someone I know.” He clasped Hamilton’s arm. “Thank goodness. Did they say how long it’ll be until he’s discharged?”

 

Hamilton shrugged. “Depends, really. I think they might move him on to the ward once they’re sure the internal bleeding is… sorted, and then it might be a week from then. He’s going to be bored as hell.”

 

Washington chuckled. “If he’s made it this far, I think he’ll make it through some boredom.”

 

Hamilton leaned back against the seat with a sigh and wiped at his eyes with a slightly trembling hand. “God, I was so worried.”

 

“When did the police say you’d have to give your statement?” Washington asked. He couldn’t help worrying that while John might be OK, there was still some bastard out there with a knife and no scruples about attacking innocent people. It made him feel queasy.

 

“They said it would be good if I could get to the station today, and it closes at about five,” Hamilton said, his eyes now closed. He looked very tired.

 

“I could drive you,” Washington offered.

 

Hamilton smiled, eyes still shut. “I’ll be fine, seriously. With all due respect, sir, you’re my professor, not my chauffeur.”

 

“Well, true,” Washington said, and, remembering Martha’s words, forged ahead. “But I’d also like for you to think of me as a friend.”

 

Hamilton opened his eyes, though he didn’t meet Washington’s gaze. “I do,” he said quietly. He sounded a little wary though.

 

“Then please let me help you out a bit until all this disruption is sorted out,” Washington said, a pleading note creeping into his voice.

 

Hamilton snorted, but he turned his head to look at Washington. His face was guarded. “You’re always trying to look after me.” His tone was mild though, not dismissive, so Washington continued.

 

“Well, I notice your other friends seem to be in the same boat,” he pointed out. “It’s fine for people to try and look after one another, you know.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Hamilton said, non-committal. He broke eye contact and stared at his fingernails awkwardly. “I just…” He exhaled slowly.

 

Washington knew well enough to keep silent by now. Hamilton seemed compelled to fill silences.

 

“I guess I’m just not used to… adults trying to look after me.”

 

He paused again. 

 

“Ah…” He sniffed, and gave an odd, embarrassed half-laugh. “My mum and I… When we got ill… It was because we were living in a crappy place that was basically one step up from a homeless shelter, with three other families. My dad left us with nothing. And she looked after me, but once she was gone…”

 

Hamilton shook his head. “There was no one that had my back, you know? Years of social workers and foster parents, etc, etc, but I didn’t really _matter_ to them.” He shrugged.

 

“It wasn’t until I met the others - John, Herc and Laf - that I realised what it was like to have other people looking out for you. And… I don’t want to discuss their private lives, but we’ve all come out of some pretty shitty situations, and we know what it’s like. And to have someone who’s outside of that…” He waved vaguely at Washington. “And who’s, like… an actual adult (I know we’re all adults really, but you know what I mean)… Who’s not even… _obligated_ to care… It feels weird.”

 

“I see,” Washington said quietly. “Well, try as I might, I can’t help but care, I’m afraid.”

 

“OK,” Hamilton said. “I guess what I’m saying is… I’m sorry if I’m not good at, like, accepting it… properly.”

 

Washington smiled. “I won’t hold it against you, I promise.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “In fact, I feel I should give you fair warning… Martha seems a bit concerned that I’m going to try and adopt the lot of you. I think she’s getting worried about how many people we’re going to be able to fit in the dining room.”

 

Hamilton grinned. “Well I don’t think there’d be any complaints there, sir.”

 

Washington thought about trying to edge him away from the “sir” thing, but figured that they had already had enough leaps and bounds in familiarity for one day. He didn’t want to push it. Instead he said, “Oh really? How do you mean?”  


 

Hamilton gave him a conspiratorial glance. “Well, Lafayette’s one of your biggest fans, for one. He’s read your book on the modern application of political theory four times.” 

 

Washington affected an incredulous expression. “Goodness, I don’t think _I’ve_ read it that many times.” 

 

“And John’s very impressed with your attempts to, erm, parent me,” Hamilton confessed.

 

“And Herc?” Washington said, with some amusement. “Don’t say I’ve failed to charm him.”

 

Hamilton laughed. “Well, he wasn’t that keen that you were discouraging me from, erm, fighting, but I think you’ve grown on him.”

 

“That’s all right then,” Washington said, feigning relief, and Hamilton laughed again. 

 

“On a more serious note,” Washington continued. “I wanted to mention being your, erm, chauffeur.” 

 

“Hmmmm?”

 

“I normally leave my office on campus at about five or six every evening,” Washington said. “And I would be very happy to give any of you boys a lift home if you came to meet me there. Because I’ll be honest, the thought of any of you walking through that area right now makes me go cold.”

 

Hamilton shrugged. “I’m sure the police will catch him.”

 

It sounded hollow, and he was sure Hamilton knew it. 

 

“Regardless,” Washington said. “It’s barely out of my way, and it’ll give me peace of mind. Particularly while it’s still dark out at that time. Just think about it, will you?”

 

Hamilton made a bit of a face, sighed, and said, “OK.”

 

***

 

Lafayette arrived back at the car ten minutes later, and Herc another twenty minutes after that, and all three of them kept up a far more relaxed chatter on the way home about how good John was looking and when they could pop back in to get him his stuff, and how much longer he was going to need to stay in hospital, and whether they could set up a bed downstairs for him so he didn’t have to climb all the stairs. Washington dropped them off at the house, politely turned down their offer of brunch, and headed back to Martha with his heart considerably lighter. 

 

When he came into the kitchen, Martha somehow had the kettle on already and two mugs set out on the worktop. 

 

“How was it?” she asked, glancing up from her latest sketch. Washington sat down with a sigh. 

 

“It was good,” he said. “Though I’m afraid your fears that I might try and look after the lot of them may not have been entirely unfounded. I’ve signed myself up for taxi-ing them from uni because I’m too worried about them walking back.”

 

Martha smiled. “You’re a very good man, my love,” she said, not for the first time, and went to pour the tea.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to come guys, thank you so much for all the comments, they really brighten my day :)


	6. In Which Hamilton Is Outnumbered

 

 

After Hamilton’s reticence, Washington didn’t really expect anyone to take up his offer of a lift home, but he still gathered his coat from its hook on Monday afternoon with an anxious feeling in his stomach. Of course, it was entirely possible that Hamilton and his friends hadn’t come to campus today, but he suspected that Hamilton’s near-obsessive dedication to his work would soon win out against any inclination to take a break, despite the circumstances. He hoped they’d at least walk home together. The sky outside had long turned dark. 

 

However, when he opened his office door, Hamilton was standing there silently, waiting. Washington couldn’t help his face splitting into a grin. 

 

“Alexander! Good to see you.”

 

“Hi sir,” Hamilton said, checking his watch. “Sorry, I know it’s nearly six, but Herc’ll be along in a few minutes, do you mind if we wait a little?” He winced. “Sorry, you’re already doing us a favour, I…”

 

“I don’t mind at all,” Washington said quickly, before Hamilton could talk himself out of it. “How’s your _Dictatorship_ essay going?” 

 

Sure enough, they talked for less than five minutes before Herc turned up, a little out of breath. “Sorry, sir, my seminar ran over.”

 

“Not at all,” Washington said, as jovially as he could without overdoing it. “Is Lafayette coming along as well, or…?”  


 

“No, he went home before lunch,” Hamilton supplied. 

 

“Excellent, well, come along then…” 

 

For the rest of the week he had at least one of the boys to deliver home, and he was gratified when on Thursday Lafayette and Herc actually turned up without Hamilton - a little sheepish, to be sure, but clearly not embarrassed enough to stay away. Washington teasingly brought up his book in the car - Herc snorted loudly and Lafayette flushed scarlet and then talked non-stop about it for the rest of the drive. Washington actually missed their house on the first loop round because they were so engrossed in conversation.

 

And just a few days later Hamilton came bounding in at the end of the day to announce, cheeks flushed with triumph, that John was being released from hospital on Saturday. Washington, naturally, offered to drive them, and Herc began to joke that they should sign him up with Uber. 

 

Lafayette was busy on Saturday morning with a social event he was organising for the international students, but Herc and Hamilton were both desperate to go and get John as soon as possible, despite Washington’s gentle reminder that hospital discharge was often a long and arduous process. Washington encouraged Hamilton to give him a ring when John was nearly ready, and so when they got to the hospital it was only a wait of ten or fifteen minutes until the two of them raced to the main entrance to collect him. 

 

Washington had only ever seen John briefly in the flesh before, but he was struck by how small he looked, especially next to Herc, who was half-supporting him as they walked towards the car. Hamilton was carrying his bag and a packet of what looked like dressings. 

 

“Hi, Professor,” John said weakly as Herc popped open the passenger door and helped him in. “I hear you’ve become the communal dad of the squad in my absence?”

 

Washington snorted with laughter and glanced towards Hamilton, who was rapidly turning red in the backseat. “You could say that. Are you feeling better?”

 

“I mean much better than I was last week,” John said lightly, putting on his seatbelt. “Really do not recommend getting stabbed though, it hurts like a _motherfucker_. Fuck, sorry, I’ve been on my best behaviour for the nurses, I need to let it out.”

 

Washington chuckled as he glanced behind him to make sure Hamilton and Herc were buckled in, and started the car. “Well, please don’t hold back on my account.”

 

He couldn’t help but notice how much _louder_ the car was on the journey back, whether due to the relief of the others or the fact that John seemed to be something of a hyperactive whirlwind even with an only partially-healed internal injury, he wasn’t sure. When he reached the house, however, John insisted that he come in.

 

“Come on, it’s the least I can do to thank you for taking care of these idiots,” he pleaded, as Hamilton and Herc made noises of outrage in the back. 

 

“Are you seriously trying to call yourself the voice of reason?” Hamilton said indignantly. “Whose idea was it that we strip naked and try to climb - ”

 

“NO NEED TO BRING UP THE PAST,” John said decisively. “Come on, sir, please. Laf’s back from his open morning and he makes the fucking best coffee, it’s like magic.”

 

“I have experienced it before,” Washington confessed, wavering a little. He should get home and back to the marking he’d been neglecting, but Martha wasn’t going to be in until the afternoon anyway, and Lafayette’s coffee had been very good. 

 

“Come on!” John said. “I nearly died! It’s my not-quite-dying wish!”

 

“You’re going to use that in every argument for the rest of your life, aren’t you?” Herc said despairingly. 

 

“There’s got to be some advantages,” John argued. “Please, sir. I’ll tell you all Alex’s terrible secrets about the extra reading he does when you’ve told him he’s already got enough essay material.”

 

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” Washington laughed. “No need to blackmail Alexander on my behalf.”

 

“You actually call him ‘Alexander’!” John said triumphantly. “No one else gets away with that without him complaining that we’re trying to mother him.”

 

Hamilton opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but they were interrupted by a knock on Herc’s window. It was Lafayette.

 

“Are you seriously sitting out here in the car instead of coming inside to talk to me?” he said, in mock-outrage. “I am most offended.”

 

“Laf!” John yelled, and nearly hit him with the car door trying to scramble out. Everyone else got out of the car very quickly after that to try and stop John injuring himself, and Washington trooped in after them, smiling despite himself. They were so young, and so vibrant, and very entertaining.

 

They all sat around the tiny kitchen table. Lafayette made them coffee. (John groaned in ecstasy upon drinking his, because apparently they hadn’t let him have any at the hospital for days, and even then it had been foul). They argued about how many stitches John had had. They argued about whether they lived in the worst part of town, or whether the numerous burglaries on the other side of campus counted as more significant. (“I was _stabbed_ , you _cock_!” “You were only stabbed once! They’ve had fourteen burglaries on Grant Road!”). They argued about whether Lafayette needed a haircut. They argued about how much untidier the house had apparently gotten since John had been away, and whose fault that had been (apparently Hamilton’s). 

 

“That rice saucepan was _not mine_!” Hamilton insisted in outrage. “Because I didn’t even eat dinner on Thursday!” he finished triumphantly, and then froze as he realised his mistake. 

 

“Alexander!” Washington said disapprovingly, though he couldn’t resist using his full name to provoke yelps of laughter from the others. 

 

“I ate lunch!” Hamilton said defensively, though he was laughing too. 

 

“I am _so_ glad to finally have another ally in the fight against his terrible eating habits,” John said, clapping Washington on the shoulder. 

 

“And sleeping habits,” Lafayette added.

 

“You’re no better!” Hamilton protested, pointing accusingly at his cup of coffee. Lafayette shrugged nonchalantly.

 

“And the lack of exercise,” Herc chimed in.

 

“Why do I feel like I’m being ganged up on?” Hamilton complained. 

 

“Because you are,” Washington pointed out, taking another sip of his coffee, which was really very good, and raising one of his eyebrows. “We’ve got you outnumbered.”

 

“Some would say outsmarted also,” Lafayette joked. Hamilton gave him the finger. 

 

John yelled, “Alexander! Not in front of _Dad_!” and they all split into laughter, presumably at the expression on Washington and Hamilton’s faces.

 

Washington stayed with them for most of the rest of the morning, quietly pleased and proud, and started mentally counting the number of chairs that would fit around his dining table.

 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :) Just a bit of a request from me - if you've enjoyed this story and have any ideas for future things you would like to see in this 'verse, please please let me know! I love writing but I struggle with inspiration, so any help would be much appreciated! Thanks once again for all the comments and kudos x


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